The One With
by james'sluv-ShadowC
Summary: A tribute to Friends, Hetalia style! Series of drabble one shots full of sexy awesomeness with all our favorite APH characters. All characters X All characters. M for language and sexual situatons :D
1. The Eggplant

The One With… the eggplant

"Holy shit!" Alfred fell out of his chair in shock at the large purple mass that was shoved in his face. "What the hell!" Standing over him was Russia, giving him a smart smirk.

"So amusing, Amerika. Look what I found at your grocery store." Alfred scrambled to a standing position, feeling entirely too vulnerable on the floor. Fixing Texas that was skewed on his face he gave a weary look at the eggplant that the Russian was now rolling between his hands in what could only be a lewd manner.

"S-so? It's an eggplant, weirdo!" His arms crossed over his chest defiantly; he would not give the commie bastard what he wanted!

"Da. An eggplant." Ivan nodded. He leaned forward, "but, do you know what we can do with it?" Alfred's eyes widened in horror and he back up as far away from the Russian as he could manage in the small space of his kitchen.

"There's no way in hell you're gonna stick that thing in me!" Alfred blurted out. His mind was being overloaded with visions of the Russian holding him down while he forced the eggplant up his ass. A shiver shot up his spine, "NO!"

Ivan took a step forwards, grinning at his American. "Nyet, Alfred, I wasn't assuming such a dirty fate for this vegetable." Alfred suddenly stopped, his face going blank in surprise.

"Y-you weren't?" His voice came out small, weak. Suddenly he straightened up and pulled down at his jacket to smooth it out, "R-right, course you weren't. Cuz if you did, I'd kick your ass into next month…" He trailed off. Russia smiled and nuzzled Alfred's neck.

"Nyet. With this I planned to make dinner a thousand times better than those disgusting burgers of yours." He placed the eggplant on the table and slid his hands around Alfred's waist. "I would not waste the eggplant like that… Besides, that is what all the carrots are for."

"Oh, right, ok- WHAT?"

* * *

Ha ha! Da, I do love a little post cold war lovin. ;) R & R


	2. The Fortune Teller

The One With… the fortune teller

Canada sat on the edge of the table in the cafeteria of the summit meeting. In his hand was an oddly folded piece of paper with which he was playing with lazily. It has been a "gift" from his brother as of a few minutes ago.

Not five minutes into England's presentation Alfred had abandoned all will to attempt to pay attention and took a piece of his notebook paper and began folding it this way and that, scribbling things on it with a dark smirk on his face. After a few minutes he had turned to the Canada with a wide grin.

"Here ya go Mattie-boy! Made it just for you." Alfred had said rather loudly in the middle of the presentation. Matthew grabbing it and stuffed it in his notebook, hoping to make it seem that all the commotion was entirely America's fault, which it was, and keep any fault off of him. It was times like this that he was glad to be invisible most of the time. It wasn't until England mercifully called for a break between the presentations that he remembered it and pulled it out.

Thus, he sat on the edge of one of the tables playing with his gift. Some time passed before he felt an ominous presence slinking up behind him. He slowly turned his head only to meet the intrigued gaze of France. He sat down against the edge of the table with a grace that only he could manage.

"Mathieu!" He grinned at him, "What do you have there mon petite chou?" Canada's eyes flickered over to him and an idea crossed his mind. It would be mean to play with Francis, but it would get back at him for all of the things that he had done to him.

"It's called a cootie-catcher. It…tells the future." He replied, fingering the cootie-catcher. A look of awe spread across France's face. Ah France, a bit too attached to the occult.

"Oh? Really?" He asked, suddenly excited, "Mon cher, show me si vous plait!"

"I-I don't know Francis… it's tempting destiny." Matthew shrugged.

"Non! Please Mathieu! It's simply a… sneak preview!" He let out a laugh at his use of English.

"Alright. Pick a color."

"Bleu!"

"Ok," He opened and closed the cootie-catcher, "B-L-U-E. Now pick a number."

"2."

"1, 2." He opened the cootie-catcher, "You will be attacked by ravenous mongooses and die missing a penis!" He looked up at Francis, that one couldn't have gone better. The color drained from the French man's face.

"Ah- ah…ah! Non, Mathieu, non! Say it isn't so!" He began to panic beside Canada.

"A-Alright! Fine, we can do it again. Pick a color."

"Jaune."

"Y-E-L-L-O-W. Pick a number."

"4."

"1, 2, 3, 4." He opened it, "You will get lucky with a slick, ro-rough…fu…ck." Now it was Canada's turn to pale. There was a silence between the two of them for a few moments. "S-shit."

"Mon cher… I think I do like this fortune much more!" A hand snaked it's way around Canada's waist. Canada sputtered, attempting to refuse but before he could France tore from the cafeteria with Matthew in tow, cursing his twin the entire way.

* * *

There's just something totally awesome about a cootie catcher. Or in this case... a cootie giver? ;D R &R


	3. Enrique Iglesias

The One With… Enrique Iglesias

"NOW ROCK YOUR BODY!"

Lovino looked up at the ceiling of the library with a confused look. He had decided to spend the weekend at Spain's island villa to get away from the insanity of his house. Ever since his idiot brother decided to start banging that German, Prussia popped in any time he wanted like he owned the place. Spain had arrived a few days before him, but he wasn't able to spend any time with him since Lovino wanted to take advantage of the silence to get some work done. Thus, instead of enjoying some quality time with Antonio, he was stuck in his library, burying himself neck deep in papers. Fuck that Prussia.

Things had been quite productive for the majority of the day. In fact, if things continued as they had he would be done by that evening. He couldn't help but notice the faint yells and muffled muffled beat hat seemed to be coming from upstairs.

"SITUATION!... NATION!... MOTIVATION! …REPUATION!...OOOH! OOOH! JU-KNOW!"

At this point, Lovino could no longer ignore the noise.

"SHAKE THAT ASS!"

He just had to get up to that room. Fast. Lovino half ran up the stairs of the villa, and paused momentarily at the top of the stairs to listen for where the music was coming from. Antonio's bedroom door was shut, and was all but vibrating from the volume of the music. It was much clearer now, and was completely English, but Lovino had no idea what it was. He hesitated outside the door before deciding surprise would be the best possible tactic. He threw the door open only to find Antonio standing on his bed, with his hair disheveled and matted to his face with sweat. His body was thrashing around in what he had to assume were 'dance moves' and every article of clothing minus his jeans were thrown on the floor. Lovino gaped. A hairbrush was in one hand and was held up to Spain's mouth like a microphone.

"Please excuse me I don't mean to be rude…BUT TONIGHT I'M FUCKING YOU! OH! JU-KNOW! THAT TONIGHT I'M FUCKING YOU!" Antonio sang out as his free hand made a mad grab for his own crotch. He was quite the performer. The song wound down to silence and it was only then he opened his eyes, panting, and noticed the Italian in the doorway.

"L-L-Lovino!" Spain cried out as a flush spread across his face and he dropped backwards onto his bed. Lovino stared at him as his tongue darted out and licked his lips. He entered and crossed the room towards the stereo, one hand unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Antonio watched him, a look of embarrassment still on his face. He always did get a bit carried away when he listened to Enrique Iglesias. He couldn't help it, it was a thing of national pride and… the intoxication of that sexy voice.

The Italian pressed a button on the stereo and the music filled the room again. He turned to face Spain.

"Sing for me again…Antonio." He purred.

* * *

For those who live in a cave and didn't quite get the song it's Tonight (I'm Fucking You) By Enrique Iglesias. Google that sexy shit! ;D Also, if you lovlies feel the need to share, send me a message with your request for either paring or objects :) Ciao! R & R


	4. the World Cup

The One With… Soccer

France's sobs could be heard from all corners of the bar. The wine bottle that he had started less than a half hour ago was empty and being waved at the crowd around him. The bar in which the nations had gathered in was very evenly split in half. On one side was France and those supporting him, each bitterly downing the best beer in Germany. On the other, cheering and celebrating loud enough to shake the building was Italy and his completely blasted group of supporters. France glared angrily as the other half of the room was attempting to sing the Italian national anthem. All but Italy were failing miserably.

"That was! Th-That was SOOO cool! That was so COOL the way you totally beat Frog-face! OH my god I was laughing soooo hard! Oh man!" America slumped against Italy, face red and slap happy.

Germany was sitting at the center of the group, happily playing the role of host, despite he too having lost. "Bartender! Another bier all around! To ITALIEN!" He shouted, spilling some beer as he toasted the air. A chorus of cheers followed.

"Course Italia would WIN!" Lovino shoved through to the center, smug grin on his face. "Who the fuck else would be able to wipe the floor with the whole world!" He was screaming at the crowd, shaking the gold cup in his younger brother's hand. After a few moments Spain came through the crowd, gently usurping the loud Italian away from the group, whispering something to keep him from protesting almost instantly.

"So…Feli…."America cooed, slinking over towards the remaining Italian. "How do you plan on celebrating this amazing win, besides hanging around this 'ol bar?" From his spot at the bar, Germany watched as he felt his gaze narrow.

Italy tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "I don't know…Germany said if he made it to the final two that he'd get to tie me up to his bed for the weekend. But, I guess since it was me who won, then it's the opposite" he replied nonchalantly. "Right, Germany?"

The group would have been more inclined to laugh at the bright red color that had taken over Germany's face suddenly, had it not been the buldge evident in all their pants.

"Either that, or a GIANT bowl of pasta. Yea… that's what I'll do-" He was suddenly cut off as Germany swept him from the room.

"NO PASTA!"

* * *

Ok, so I wasn't too happy with how this one turned out. I'm having writers block brought on by the stress of dead/finals week. . R/R and hope you liked it. And, in case you missed it, this chapter was refering to the 2006 FIFA Soccer World Cup held in Germany.


	5. The Piano

The One With… the piano

Germany stared down the grand piano that dominated the center of the room. The fire in his eyes was the result of hours of sexual frustration. The entire situation was wrong, just dead wrong. He was Ludwig! The great Germany himself! If any of the other nations of the world were to find out he could die. Anything would be better than facing the shave of his current predicament. He knew Austria's love of his hobby bordered on obsession, but since he was in possession of his own bondage type skeletons, he figured he wasn't in the situation to object. But now, as they entered their third sexless week in a row, it was more than an issue, it was war.

Outright offensive tactics were out. Breaking of the piano would result in death. That was assured. However, deterrence had broken down long before, but no scenario seemed to work to defeat his enemy. It hadn't occurred to him until today to try an evasive tactic, or rather…abrasive.

Which brought Germany to his current situation: face to face with his enemy, a marker in his hand and his pants pooled down to his ankles. The German empire may have lost WWII, but this victory was going to be his at least three times. A smirk took Germany's face. Yes, three, he would make sure of it.

Austria was surprised to find his house completely silent; he has assumed Ludwig would still be there despite his negligence these past few weeks. He hadn't meant to be so selfish with his time, however, he just couldn't let himself waste any time until after he had finally mastered the Rachmaninoff piece he had recently acquired from Russia. It killed him to think that he still hadn't gotten it down, even with his skills.

He stepped into his study to find Germany standing beside his piano.

"Oh, Ludwig I thought you had left." He commented with a smile, as he took a seat at the piano. He was just about to uncover the keys when Germany's voice stopped him.

"Today you will not be playing that piano." He said sternly. Austria looked at him with an odd expression that quickly turned to anger.

"Ludwig, Please. I just want to prac-"

Germany cut him off again, "You will not be playing THIS piano today." As he spoke he took a seat on the piano.

"GERMANY!" Germany ignored him, making himself comfortable before reaching down to unbuckle his pants. Under the other nation's gaze he slid them down to his knees, exposing a broken keyboard drawn across his upper thighs. Austria's eyes widened slightly.

"This is the one you'll be playing today."


	6. The Night Cap

The One With… the night cap

Arthur Kirkland couldn't sleep. He had been lying in bed waiting, hoping...praying for merciful unconsciousness, but nothing came. It was after the first hour of lying there that he had finally had enough. With a quick thrust he threw the blankets off of himself and climbed out of bed. With some difficulty he made it down the stairs to his library, groping around in the dark for a light switch of some sort. He managed to find the pull string to a lamp; the light weakly spread through the room, giving him just enough light to make out the large glass cabinet in the corner of the room. With a grateful sigh of relief he opened it and pulled out a carved glass and a bottle of cognac, filling it to the brim with the amber liquid. He sat there contemplating his glass when the phone went off. It rang a few times, Arthur contemplated letting it ring and go to his answering machine, but eventually he dragged himself over and picked it up.

"Hello?" He answered, annoyance clearly evident in his voice.

"_Mon dieu _Arthur, you sound so...angry. No "Good night _mon chère,_ I've missed you" ?" the voice purred out of the receiver; England rolled his eyes. This was not happening.

"That would be lying Frog. What do you want? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Tsk, tsk Arthur. One mustn't be so angry before they go to sleep. It's bad for the bod-"

"What do you want?"

"Nothing... I was just taking a little night cap and figured I'd give _mon doux petit Anglais_ a call. Is that so wrong? I was just...pondering, reminiscing..." Arthur sighed into the receiver, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He truly did hate to converse with France; the only reason he wasn't hanging up on the perverted fool was because he still couldn't sleep.

"About?" he asked so as to humor Francis.

"About how sitting there staring at a glass of the congac that I gave you for your birthday a few years back you looked just the same as the day we found out about the war." Francis replied easily, "Do you remember? When that idiot German ruined everything?"

"Of course I remember. I also remember you jumped in first. You're the one causing problems." England retorted.

"No more than usual. It wasn't my fault that damn Russian decided to back up the Serbs. Besides... interest in the Balkans was just too good. But, anyway, aside from that... we were at your vacation house in Antigua, weren't we? Overlooking the ocean..."

"I do remember..." Arthur replied, suddenly thinking back with a rather fond look on his face. It seemed they had only just ended the 19th century, a terrifyingly stressful time to say the least. After that, all Arthur had wanted was a time to himself. Unfortunately for him Francis had somehow conned him into letting him tag along. Yet, in some bothersome sort of way, Arthur had to admit that the frenchman had made the trip better. When he wanted to be, he could be quite appealing company. "It was a shame it had to end."

"REALLY? Tell me _mon chéri_, which part was it a shame to end? The days spent on the beach or the nights spent in the bedroom?" the voice practically purred on the other end.

"You know what? NEVER MIND. It was horrible. Worst vacation ever. Thank GOD the war made it end so quickly!"

"But Arthur! _Ma fleur délicat!_ You can't mean that, especially since I remember you being incredibly able to vocalize your approval more than a few times!" Francis laughed into the phone, imagining the look on his face.

"BULLOCKS! You damn frog, you have no proof-" suddenly Arthur stopped, realizing something. " Wait... I never told you what I was drinking." Suddenly a hand came down on his shoulder and laughter filled his ears. Wet traveled up the shell of his ear.

"You're so funny _mon chéri_."


	7. Poker

The One With…Poker

"Enough! The meeting is adjured for today. Just….get out of my sight." Germany sighed, thus ending yet another eventful – albeit unproductive – day at the World Summit. The chattering nations gratefully b- lined for the exit, not wanting to spend another precious brain cell on any thoughts on sustainable energy. Of all the countries America was most grateful for the end as it meant he could now vocalize the death match argument he had been having silently with Mexico over their last soccer match.

"Dirty cheater! You totally know it!" Alfred hissed eyes practically ablaze.

"_Ay, __imbécil_." Mexico sighed, mostly out of arrogance. "Cheating is getting one point over your opponent, not four. Besides, it was your gringo _gueyes_ that were playing dirty. Just to make up for the fact that, as ju put it, you SUCK ASS."

"What? Oh hell naw! It's on Lopez!" America did a big show of pushing up the sleeves of hid bomber jacket. He forced his narrowed glare down a few inches, trying to rub in the few inches he had over the man. Fuck the Mexican – American war, the deserved it. From afar, Russia watched the exchange with growing interest. He began to move forward towards them, not to prevent anything, but simply to catch a better view of his little american deep in his confrontation. Before he reached them, he heard Mexico speak.

"Alright. I will prove to ju once again. We'll settle this _gringo-landia_ once and for all." By now the two had gotten quite a large audience, with France watching with increased interest. "With a game of poker."

"I'd like to take that bet." Russia cut in from behind America.

"Oui, as would I!" France jumped in with a wicked smile on his lips.

"Crap." America groaned.

"Okay! Den les say we make this more interesting, eh? How about a little game of…strip poker?"

Fifteen minutes and three hands later had none but America missing his jacket, shirt and pants. Glaring at the other countries around him he mumbled and cursed under his breath.

"There's no way in hell I'm going to be losing more clothes. Deal Lopez!" America demanded as he wrapped his arms across his chest in a vain attempt to cover himself up.

"You know America, at dis rate we all will be winning dis little game." France crooned at him, leaning forward in an attempt to peak past the table.

"That sounds like a good idea actually. America is sitting like a waiting prize as it is. Why not say that the next winning hand gets him?"

"W-wait!" America slammed his hands down on the table. "I-I call cruel and unusual punishment! This is against the 8th amendment!" Everyone around the table gave America an odd look.

"Maybe in your country." Russia's eyes shone at him with the weight of all the evils in the world. "Try not to be so egotistic, da America?"

"Fine, fine. You'll get to play this round too, just to see if you can even win." Mexico smirked at him as his hands expertly cut and shuffled the deck, without so much as glancing down at them. Each country received their respective hands and America took an uneasy breath before looking down at his cards. It took all that he was to not cry out. Yes, luck was always on the side of the hero, especially when the hero was as awesome as he was. Which was, of course, hella super awesome. America forced the grin to stay off his face as he eyed his hand: three tens, a face card and a four. All he needed was one card and he was home free.

"W…we're playing with twos being wild, right?" He ventured, hoping not to let them know that he actually needed it.

"We have been for the past 10 hands. Ju tell me, _gachupin_." Alfred's eyes narrowed. Mexico was getting to be a bit too cocky for his taste- Alfred paused, shuddered and stopped that thought completely. Given his current situation, he didn't want to think of Lopez or the words "cocky" or "taste" in the same sentence.

"Silly America. Could it be we are getting nervous? I must tell you… I will greatly and thoroughly enjoy my win." France was crooning at him from behind his cards. America rolled his eyes. He knew a bluff from France better then France did.

"You haven't won yet, frog face." America spat back, taking his four and slapping it face down on the table.. "Switch me."

Everyone noticed Alfred's hand shaking as he reached for his new card. If he didn't get what he needed he was going to be screwed with only a three of a kind. It might be enough to bluff his way to a win – he'd won many a game with less – but all the same, his body was a lot more to lose than a few bucks. He flipped it over and let relief wash over him. Staring him in the face was the 2 of spades.

"I'll start. I raise 20." America began, slapping a bill on the table.. By the time it got back to him he had to match an additional 200, but if he was able to win it was all going to be worth it.. France folded just near the end, although he seemed extremely reluctant to do so.

Russia put down his cards, carefully setting his straight out before looking up at the two of them smugly. At this point America couldn't contain his excitement. He let out a laugh before setting his now full house on the table.

"So sorry, Vanya. Looks like I just kicked your ass." America laughed wickedly, but stopped when an even darker laugh over power his own.

"Poor America. Too self-absorbed for his own good." Mexico winked at him before laying each one of his cards on the table. First went the two kings, followed by a two. He paused for effect before following those up with two aces. "In case you're wondering… _ya te fregaste*_." He laughed as he reached out for the money. He stood, tucking the money in his breast pocket as he went, and effectively pulled Alfred out of the room and out of sight.

* * *

A/N

So, in case there are those of you that are poker virgins... the game was played with twos being wild (actually called perros sueltos in Mexico) and both America and Mexico ended up with Full Houses.

* Um, so this has many different translations (literal or otherwise) but in this lovely context it means: "You're fucked." Hee hee, perfect.

R/R chiquitines, tis much appreciated :)


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